I Loved You

I loved you
like water
like the grass
like liquid mercury
inside of blown glass

i loved you
like soft snow
and meditations,
like you were
the chosen one.

i loved you
inside cages
on rooftops
where lilies grew
through rock quarries.

i loved you
innocently like lambs,
openly like rain clouds
demanding the
sun come out
i loved you.

i loved you
like disease accustomed to,
like rabid dog bites
oozing with foam
because the pain
had become my home.

i loved you
somewhere in the distance,
like tart lemons
and bitter beer faces,
i loved you,
and then i loved another.

i loved another,
like the same as you,
same habits,
same stench,
same brick walls,
trapped inside the absence.

i loved another,
like more tears on baby cheeks,
more bruises on scraped knees
like open wounds
and belly screams on
roller coaster rides,
i loved another,
and then i loved me.

i loved me,
like acceptance,
and purity,
wholesomeness,
and mistakes.
like wistful memories,
and regrets,
like fading sunsets.

i loved me,
like imperfection,
and joyful smiles,
like yearning
and fighting,
constantly running,
to keep from hiding,
i loved me,
now i love them.

i love them
like learning,
like figuring it out,
and compassion.
like accepting the afterlash
of my actions.

i love them,
like hope
like understanding choices,
like intent of thought,
like harsh truth,
from singing voices.

i love them,
because i loved you,
who taught me to love another,
until i learned to love me,
so i could love them.

(written 1/11/2011)

https://anchor.fm/venniekocsis/embed/episodes/I-Love-You-e1k5sc/a-a3tho1

 

Vennie Kocsis is the best-selling author of Cult Child and other publications. She is a also a poet and hostess of the podcast Survivor Voices Show.

The Death of Ms. Hagley

I thought I’d feel reprieve;
some kind of soul relief
to find out she died,
crucified by slow breaths;
a painful death,

almost as scarring as
the beatings she left
on my extremities,
days in school while
everyone stared at me.

What does this mean
that I feel anger
she got to leave
before she stood and
faced accountability?

They’re all escaping,
age taking them down
minute by minute,
ticking time bombs,
their lips pursed with
the silence they’ve rehearsed.

Want to make a confession
before you try to enter
your imaginary heaven?

Did no wrong so
you’ve held on
to the denial,
shame,
the victim blame with
wings transparent
if not invisible as
they don’t exist
when you are
birthed from evil.

Into the dark matter sink,
buried in the
absence of light.

You go become midnight,
thick and airless,
no lungs or blood cells;
nothingness;
that be your hell.

I try to feel some
kind of way but I’m
filled with memories,
flat and frayed.

I’ll leave behind
written manifestos
of what you all did and
never confessed to.

With my head held high,
I will always tell the truth.
Now I can speak your name.
So the world can truly know you.

This be my sadistic story;
the one I deserve to scream
while the blaming arrives asking
what about her family?

I reply
what about me?

v.k poetry